In Close Embraces
by LuxCordis
Summary: Even Bruce Banner needs a hug now and then. Maybe even specifically Bruce Banner. Though, he really doesn't agree.
1. Intro

**Constructive advice is always highly appreciated! Reviews are very much wanted :)**

**Let me know what you think. **

**This is going to be a five shot probably. Or a six shot, I'm not sure yet.**

**Also, t****his story is inspired by 'The Group Hug Project' from Student of Dreams.**

** /s/8246930/1/The-Group-Hug-Project**

**Read it, it's great!**

* * *

_A hug is a marvelous thing. _

_It's not marvelous in terms of kissing or having sex. Other than the obvious body-to-body contact, they are completely different things. Hugs are a point in time where everything stands still. Your heart rate lowers, your muscles ease. Like a little light in your body, just steadily giving off a nice, evenly spread warmth, heating up every cold piece of your body and soul all at once. _

_Nothing is quite as satisfying as that._

* * *

After the battle in New York, Tony had invited Bruce to come and stay with him and Pepper in the new and improved Stark Tower. He initially wanted to decline, but Tony had been persistent to the point of annoying. So Bruce had said yes. And boy was he glad.

Living with Tony and Pepper was the by far best thing that had happened to him since Betty. They completely took him in, gave him a room, a place to stay, a place to work. But more importantly, they gave him a home. Pepper as much as Tony. Even though she was often away, she never failed to make him feel loved. As soon as he had taken residence in Stark Tower, she had taken care of him like she had never done anything else. She bought him clothes, and made sure his favorite brand of tea was always in stock, though he'd never asked her for anything. And not just with material things either. She listened to him when he needed to vent, she subtly took Tony for a business talk whenever he felt stressed out. Somehow, she knew exactly what he needed, when he needed it, even if he himself didn't know.

But then again, it was probably how she had kept Tony alive all those years.

Even when she went on a business trip, she left orders for JARVIS, making sure Tony (and now Bruce) ate and slept at all, because really, otherwise they would just work themselves to death, and be perfectly happy in the process. Tony was worse than Bruce though, and Pepper seemed to be a little more content when she discovered that at least _one_ of them had the sanity not to let them starve.

It was then, on a fine Monday morning, that she walked into the lab to announce an emergency departure to Japan. It was not uncommon she left suddenly, so neither Tony or Bruce was startled when she told them she would be going right then.

So Tony kissed her, like he always did, and she promised to come back to him as soon as possible, like she always did. Then she surprisingly walked up to Bruce, and pulled him into a warm embrace.

Even though she'd been taking care of him for the last few months, she had never hugged him before.  
In fact, Bruce had already been going for the wave, when she suddenly wrapped her arms around him. Wide-eyed, he stood while she squeezed him. Then she pulled back, smiled at him lovingly, and walked out of the lab with a last bye to Tony.

Bruce couldn't help but stare at the place she'd disappeared.

"You really suck at hugging, you know that?" Tony informed him, looking at him curiously.

. "Eh…" he said, snapping awake, flushing a nice shade of burgundy.

Tony raised his eyebrows. "Sorry, what did you say? I couldn't quite catch that."

_Damnit_. Bruce licked his lips nervously. "I'm not exactly used to, well, you know," he fiddled, ".…people… _hugging_ me."

Tony hopped onto his table. "You don't have people hugging you?" Incredulous radiated of his face. "By 'people', you mean ignorant bastards who only see you as a prize-winning monkey or a threat, right?" he asked, popping a blueberry in his mouth. "Well, they don't count."

"There aren't that many other people," he contradicted.

Tony pursed his lips comically, frowning at the wall, and shrugged.

"Well, there's me for one," he summed up. "Then there's Cupid and Point break. Steve and Nat, well, they are a little less fond of jolly green maybe, but they really like you, which makes five. Personally, I think it's the whole therapist look. Blueberry?" He held out the bag of dried fruit.  
"Including Pepper, that's six people. Then there's Coulson and Hill of course, but as much as they like you, they will never leave the 'ignorant bastards' category. Ever." He paused. "Though, Hill might screw you." Bruce's cheeks darkened again, and he scowled, which made Tony grin. Bruce rolled his eyes.

"So," Tony continued, still grinning, "not everybody in the world is a dick! And you've been to every single third world country there is, helping people. You can't tell me you haven't been hugged.

Bruce couldn't help but smile a little ruefully. "No."

Tony paused. "I won't believe that."

Bruce elaborated. "I don't want them to hug me."

That surprised Tony. "Why not?"

Bruce laughed. "I'm a walking time-bomb. I really can't afford to get attached to people."

If he had looked up right then, he'd seen a flash of hurt in Tony's eyes before the playboy took over again.

"I don't believe you," he stubbornly said. "You just cannot go such a long time without doing the things a man's gotta do."

Bruce arched an eyebrow. "Sex. Really, Tony?"

"Alright, yeah, I agree that it might be a little tricky, but come on! It's _sex_!" He all but whined.

Bruce snorted. "Tony, heart rate, remember?"

Tony grumbled. "You didn't even try, did you?"

He shook his head, smiling. "Well, no. _Obviously_. Someone could get hurt."

"That really is your favorite excuse, isn't it. _Someone could get hurt._"

"It's not an excuse, Tony. It's reality."

"No, it's your lack of self-esteem," Tony said. Then, after a silent moment, "but you still had a hug right?"

"No."

"Dude, _how_ can you still be alive."

Bruce then pressed his lips in a tight line and averted his eyes awkwardly. Tony immediately regretted his words. He _knew_ Bruce had attempted suicide. Even probably more often than he wanted to know.

He anguished."Look- all I'm trying to say is that you _deserve_ to be hugged, Bruce. You do. And I just find it really hard to choke down that there are so many rats of asses out there who can't see that."

Bruce was silent for a moment. Then he nodded, acknowledging Tony, immediately followed by an apologetically headshake and he looked at him determinately.

"It's for the better," he said. It was clear the conversation was over.

Tony looked at his partner for a long few minutes, trying to process the idea of not being willingly touched all that time. His stomach clenched angrily at the thought. It wasn't natural. Everyone needed someone to hug them. How could Bruce not see that.

He shook his head in sadly and slid off the table.

"I really don't see how that's better, Bruce."


	2. 1

It had been a week, and Tony hadn't mentioned the conversation again. Bruce tried not to think about it, but often he found Tony's words resounding in his mind, until he had to violently shove them away. It had been the first time he had talked about his lack of physical contact since the accident. He had never given it much thought. After all, it wasn't like he could do anything about it. But there was something about Tony's disbelief that had surprised him…

It was 3 am though, and he was in the lab. As usual, Tony was talking to him over the loud music, producing a constant stream of words about whatever he was working on at the moment. Bruce hummed once in a while, sometimes adding something to the conversation, laughing when Tony made fun of Fury again. He worked on some equation Tony needed for his new suit, working out the variables. It was a particularly difficult one to solve, and he had to start over. _Again_. He concentrated his thoughts, blocking out the rest.

It wasn't until he felt a warmth behind him that he noticed. He was about to turn around to ask Tony what he was doing, when he suddenly was surrounded by an oil-stained body, hot, muscular arms wrapping themselves securely around his torso. A solid, steady body pressed into his back. Bruce froze, his heart going a hundred miles per hour.

"Tony?" he breathed, "what are you doing?"

Tony shushed him, quietly resting his head on Bruce's shoulder.

"I'm hugging you," he murmured.

"… why?"

"Because I want to."

Bruce opened his mouth to say something, but shut up when Tony nestled his head in the crook of his neck. He hitched. A box of memories fell from a shelve in his mind, scattering the contents on the floor of his conscious.

People. People hugging, kissing, caressing, _touching_ him. Betty. His mom.

He hadn't realized how much he had been missing them until this very point.

When Tony had laid his arms around him and he could breath him in. All metal-scented piece of him. And it was glorious. And he was so _angry_ about it. Tony _knew_ it would make leaving eventually that much harder. Maybe that was his point. How could he not understand this was not okay. That this was only breaking him further apart.

Because it was, right? It felt like it was.

But is also felt kind of safe. And very awkward. Tony was still not letting go. God, the man was so stubborn. Bruce opted to just wait him out, but quickly discarded the thought. In terms of stubbornness, Tony was the queen. Bruce knew he wasn't going to let go before he got what he wanted. And he knew Bruce knew. _For god's sake. Fine._

Bruce angrily let out a shaky breath. He hadn't done this in a long time.

"I… I don't know how to do this," he admitted.

If Tony was surprised, he didn't show it.

"…That's okay," he mumbled against his shoulder. His body leaned heavily on Bruce.

"Close your eyes."

"What? Why?"

"Just close them."

Bruce obeyed him gingerly.

"Now stop thinking."

Bruce gave him a funny look, but Tony couldn't see it, so he set warily to his task.

The fastest way to stop thinking, was to focus on your body. It's something he'd learned after years and years of meditating. Looking at it from that familiar point of view, comforted Bruce a little. A _little_. But he tried anyway.

The places where Tony touched his body were hot. But not uncomfortable. It was a nice kind of hot. It spread through his body like a little fire that didn't burn. Tony was pressed against his body like a blanket. Soft and warm. He tried to match Tony's breath, which was even and deep in his ear. That was surprisingly easy. It was like his meditation rhythm. If Bruce hadn't felt Tony blinking against his skin, he might've thought Tony was fast asleep.

Bruce could feel Tony's heartbeat too though, slow and steady. It was beating comfortable against his back, right next to the hard plate of Tony's arc reactor. Essentially, Bruce was leaning against his friend's heart. It was incredibly relaxing to feel someone so close. He gradually slumped into Tony, sinking into the other body like it was a life boat. It felt safe and warm; kind of like _home_.

Natasha found them half an hour later. Slumped against each other, quietly breathing in each other's scent. She had come to tell them pizza was ready, but when she saw the scenery before her, she smiled and left as quietly as she had come. They had never noticed her entering anyway.


	3. 2

Now, Tony hugging him had been one thing. He had been reluctant, but it was just Tony, and really, he had already been attached to the guy if he admitted it or not anyway. It would be hard to leave Tony behind whatever he did. It didn't make a difference. Much.

No, it really started to get tough when out of the blue, Clint hugged him.

It was after another battle. Hulk had done his smashing, and had done his smashing well. It had left Bruce exhausted, even more than normal, which _said_ something.

When he woke up he lay in a pile of rubble - nothing out of the ordinary there. What _was_ out of the ordinary was the fact that his pile of rubble was shared. Clint Barton sat next to him quietly, staring off in the distance. Bruce carefully sat up. _Well_, this was certainly unusual. A pair of pants was thrown into his lap. "Goodmorning, sweetie." Clint looked at him, his lips stretching into a grin at his startled expression. He shook his head. And immediately regretted that decision. He growled in unpleasant surprise when a skull splitting pain shot up his neck.

"Whoah there, big guy. Take it easy," Clint rushed over. Supporting him, he carefully helped him stand upright. Bruce's head was swimming.

"What- what happened?" he asked.

Clint picked up the pants, offering him the piece of fabric. "You were transforming back when one of the buildings nearby collapsed. You got hit in the head pretty hard."

That confused him.

"Didn't the other guy…?"

"Surprisingly, no. You just growled defensively and then just shut up. You shrank really fast after that."

Bruce gingerly took the pants. He frowned. He must have been too far into the transformation for the hulk to lash out again...

"Where-"

"The others are on their way. I was the only one present. Hulk and I had teamed up on one the big flying one. We kicked it's ass all the way to China. But by the time we were done it had crashed a little far out of the fighting scene. Hence, we're sitting on a farm." He gestured around him.

Bruce hadn't noticed the grasslands surrounding them. He glanced up, and found that the sun hung lower than expected. He shut his eyes with a grunt of pain. Light and headaches did not go well together.

Clint asked him "You okay?". He sounded concerned.

Now_ that_ was something that didn't happen very often.

"Yeah, I'm fine. It's just the light." He frowned and blinked a couple of times.

"It's already better."

Clint nodded.

They were silent for a moment, and Bruce stifled a yawn. He was really, _really_ tired. His eyes drooped. His head had drained most of the energy he had left, which hadn't been very much to begin with.

Under Clint's scrutinizing gaze he sat down on in front of a big rock. It was hard, but he didn't care. His mind was all fog and he just wanted to _sleep_.

He sighed. In a haze he heard Clint speaking to his earpiece. It was a quiet mumble in his head. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, drifting off.

Then he felt two strong arms wrap around him firmly. He opened his eyes just in time to see Clint slide between him and his rock. He tried to move away in a hurry, but his attempt was cut off by his arms collapsing underneath him.

Clint caught him easily and sat down behind Bruce, pulling the protesting scientist closer, sitting him practically in his lap.

"You are not going to be sleeping against a _rock_, Bruce."

Bruce tried to wriggle free, but he was too tired to shrug off Clint's hands.

"I just slept on rubble, I'll be f-f- f-fine" he frowned, yawning grudgingly.

Clint just stretched out his legs in front of him, capturing Bruce in between, forcing him stop moving.

"I don't care. You'll get some strange form of hernia. I'll wake you when the others are close."

Bruce still tried to protest faintly, but really, he knew it was all futile. He was too tired and Clint was too strong. He couldn't fight the arms that pulled him to the archer's heart, and to be honest, he didn't really want to. Clint was piercing his defences with an ease that should have been frightening, but somehow his mind hadn't processed that emotion yet. He didn't have the strength to pull away even if he could.

God, he _knew_ it would hurt later, when he had to go. He _knew_, and couldn't bring himself to care.

Not now. Now, all he wanted was to lean back into Clint and let the other man shift his head onto his shoulder, closing strong arms around him in a safe cage of warmth, protecting him from himself.

He was out within seconds.

When he woke up, he was in a bed, and a plate of food was on his night stand A note was tucked underneath it. Careful not to move his head too much, he picked it up.

_Sorry I didn't wake you. You looked like you needed it.  
__If you get food poisoning, blame Thor. He helped._

– _Clint_

_PS if Tony is being an ass, tell me. I'll hide his alcohol stash._

Bruce chuckled faintly. Then he sighed. He had a problem. A serious problem. Groaning, he hid his face in his pillow.

Why did they have to make leaving so fucking hard.


	4. 3

**So, new chapter! This one turned out a little bit longer than the others.**

**A little bit lot.  
**

**Sorry if that bothers you. It's not something I did intentional, or because I thought Cap deserved more down time with our beloved Bruceyboy. It's just how my writing works apparently :)**

**CONSTRUCTIVE ADIVE: WANTED.**

**(That had to be in caps. It just had to.) **

* * *

It was the middle of the night when Bruce walked into the kitchen. He had had a nightmare. Or, he had had a nightmare about two days ago, which was why he was still awake at this point. Simply refusing to sleep until he passed out usually helped drowning some of his nightly sorrows.

His time was spent mostly in the lab, where Tony's blearing music and the sheer amount of brilliant distractions kept him awake for a substantial part of the day. However, after so many hours, there came a point when those things weren't enough. And on that point, Bruce drank.

Well, he drank coffee. Black coffee, milk coffee, coffee with chocolate; He drank anything, as long as there was a lot of caffeine present.

Tonight, he was at that point again. Tony had gone to bed three hours earlier. Or rather, he had been dragged to bed by Pepper, after she had all but threatened to call Natasha down to cut off his manly parts while smiling angelically. Pepper had thrown a stern look to him as well, which he had uncomfortably dodged while muttering some vague reassurance. He would go to bed… Eventually…

Bruce sighed and stepped into the room. It was dark inside, but he didn't turn on the lights. He preferred darkness at this point. After looking at bright screens for such a long time it was a welcome change to his tired eyes, and the little bit of light that filtered through the windows was just enough to make his way without bumping into the furniture.

Steve was another point.

He hadn't noticed the hunched figure on the kitchen floor before it was too late. He let out a yelp when his foot caught under a curled leg and he was sent flying to the floor. He caught himself with his hands, rolling over to prevent himself from crashing into the sink.

He heart rustling and the light flickered on.

"O my god, are you alright, Bruce?" Steve rushed to help him up.

Taking deep breaths, the doctor forced himself to calm down. _Just Steve_. _It's just Steve._ Nothing to worry about. No intruders, no bad guys. Just a friend sitting in a dark kitchen in the middle of the night. Nothing out of the ordinary. _Wait what?_

He looked at Steve, who looked at him with worry written all over his face. Then he remembered the question.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Sorry for tripping over you," he hurriedly answered.

"It's okay, it was dark."

Bruce nodded, and an awkward silence fell.

"What are you doing here so late?" Steve asked.

"I couldn't… sleep," he answered.

"…What about you?"

"Yeah… same…" Steve shifted on his feet uneasily.

Another loaded silence. Then Bruce remembered why he had come to the kitchen in the first place and quickly stalked over to the coffee machine.

A surprised voice emerged from behind him. "You drink coffee?"

Bruce paused. " Sometimes."

Carefully, Steve eyed him. "Doesn't coffee make you… _more_ awake?" he asked.

He sounded a little wary. Probably the result of being shot down time after time when he said something 'stupid'. Again.

Bruce smiled at him reassuringly. "Yeah, it does."

"Then why are you making coffee?" he frowned. "Don't you want to sleep?"

_Bullseye, Cap, bullseye._

"I do," he lied. "I'm making decaf."

"Oh. Okay then."

The machine clicked, preparing his double strong coffee with milk with ease. Steve slouched into a chair, rubbing his eyes tiredly. Bruce narrowed his eyes. He hadn't noticed the black circles under Steve's eyes before. He was pretty sure those weren't there two days ago. His eyes swept over the defeated form. He saw white, and his shoulders slumped forward very uncharacteristically, making the friendly soldier look more like his actual age then the twenty-something he essentially still was. He looked, well… if he was being honest… he looked an awful lot like his own reflection when he had looked in the mirror an hour ago.

Something clicked in his head.

He softly cleared his throat. "You okay, Steve?" he asked quietly.

Steve looked up. "Hmm? Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired…"

Bruce shuffled a little with his feet. "Why couldn't you sleep?"

"Just some… stuff… running through my head. You know… kind of hard to shut my mind up." He rubbed his eyes again, repressing a yawn. "It's nothing."

Bruce took his coffee out, and hesitated for a moment. But instead of leaving, he sighed a little and gingerly sat himself opposite of the man.

"You sure that's all?" he searched for his blue eyes. The captain nodded.

Bruce deliberated. He wanted to run. Really, he did. But there was something in the shifting eyes and the grimaces, the fumbling with his fingers, that looked all too familiar. Steve was haunted. He had known Tony was, and he was sure Clint and Natasha had been having bad dreams as well. But he had never thought about what horrors Steve could've met at night. The soldier always seemed so… put together. As if, like Tony had once said, 'he has a giant self-righteous stick up his ass'.

He intently stared down at his coffee.

"I have nightmares too, you know" he admitted.

Steve looked up surprised. Blue eyes met brown ones.

"How did you know?" he whispered.

Bruce smiled ruefully. "Takes one to know one."

"You wanna talk about it?" he asked.

Bruce shook his head. "Do you?"

"Not really."

"Alright."

They sat in silence for a few minutes. It was comfortable though, so he didn't mind.

"Does it help?"

Bruce raise his brows. "What do you mean?"

"Having Tony."

"I… I don't understand," Bruce frowned.

"He has nightmares too, right?"

"How do you know?"

"I hear him scream sometimes."

"Ah." Silence.

"It does." Bruce murmured.

"How?" Steve whispered, on the verge of desperation. Bruce wondered how long he hadn't been sleeping.

"Sometimes we pass out on the couch. Mostly while the other is working. We… watch over each other, I guess." Bruce sighed.

He nodded.

"You know, you could try it, if you'd like." It was out before he knew it.

"What, sleep on the couch?"

"Yeah. You know. If you want to of course. I mean, I'll probably be working for a while in the lab anyway, so you're welcome to pass out if it'd make you feel better I guess."

"Won't I bother you?"

Typical.

"No, that'd be alright. Tony has done it before."

Steve thought for a moment.

"Alright then."

Five minutes later, Bruce looked down to a very uneasy Steve.

It was quite a sight to behold actually. The giant, fluffy couch alone stood out like a sore thumb, but with Captain America angled awkwardly on it, it looked like some absurd piece of art.

"Are you sure this is okay?" He asked tentatively.

"It's fine with me Steve. Just try to get some sleep, will you. You look like you haven't slept in days," he smiled.

Steve snorted tiredly. "More like weeks," he murmured before closing his eyes.

Bruce's mouth fell open. Literally. _Weeks_? He knew Steve's genetic code had been enhanced to make a Super Soldier, but weeks without sleep would cause permanent damage to any normal human. He felt a little envious. Weeks without having to sleep sounded wonderful. If only he- Bruce shook his head.

Back to work.

The next three hours were quiet ones. Steve slept like a baby. He was hugging the blanket that Bruce had provided him with fiercely, and somewhere around the two hour mark he had gone fetal. It was, if anything else, adorable. Well, if you left out the 7 foot pack of muscle thing.

But after three hours, little whimpers came from the heap on the couch, resounding loudly in the dead silence. Bruce took off his glasses and strode over to the soldier, concerned. Quietly, he sat down next to the curled up body. Steve's teeth, through which every now and then a muffled cry escaped, were grit together tightly. He recognized the signs. It was the way Tony looked when he was having one of _those_. The worst kind. The ones that made your blood go cold and your hart race wild.

"Hey, Steve," he rasped, "Steve, wake up." Bruce shook him lightly.  
No effect. He increased his force. "Steve."

A moan choked in his throat. Steve was scraping the blanket, trying to grasp something that seemed just behind his reach. Maybe it was something valuable. Maybe it was someone else. He didn't know. Firmly, he finally tried to pull the man's hands off the duvet to prevent his strong limbs from accidentally tearing it, however, forgetting for a split moment that hey, Steve was a super soldier, and he was _strong_. So instead of prying the hands off the blanket, like he intended, Bruce ended up landing ungraciously into the couch with a very unmanly squeak.

_Shit._

In an instant, Bruce was locked in by two iron arms. Steve let out a whimper. Bruce was awkwardly lying with his legs dangling off the couch. It was uncomfortable to say the least. He tried to push Steve's arms away, but that just backfired when Steve tightened his grip.

"Great," he muttered. _How_ was he supposed to match the guy when he wasn't green and running around?

Steve let out a content sigh. His breath was actually stabilizing, Bruce noticed.

Pushing with all his might, he tried again. With no results. Of course not. His sleep-deprived mind could've told him that as well.

He sighed.

_Well, fuck_.

He wasn't going to get free without Steve's help, obviously. He groaned. Straining his neck, he tried to get a glimpse of his cuddler's face, and turned back around slowly in surprise. Well, there went his plan to wake Steve up. Without question, that was out of the water.

Steve was _smiling_. No whimpers, no moans, no grinding teeth, just a serene, happy _smile_, plastered on his face.

He groaned again. Whatever Steve was dreaming about, apparently it was good. He didn't have the heart to snatch that away. _Especially_ not from Steve. Good-natured Steve, who was always there for everyone, yet never asked for anything in return. God knows he needed something good to happen in his life. Even if it was just in a dream. Bruce knew he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he took that rare opportunity from him. So, pulling up his legs, he settled down for a sleepless night, used as a teddy bear.

He got comfortable. Because his face was pressed to Steve's chest he could hear, _feel_, their heartbeats. Both of them. Steve's was slow. His was unsettled. He listened to them, finding the patterns they created. How something so relatively small could keep them alive. It was a little miracle in itself. But then again, they were both kind of unnatural. The beast and the soldier. They had had the same goal. How different they worked out.

His breath was deep and slow. Steve was warm and solid and he smelled of shampoo. It was nice. Warm and cozy. How one should feel when lying in bed, he guessed. He couldn't remember feeling like that, going to sleep though. Always the fear lingering in his mind. Waiting to lash out. Now it was repressed though. Repressed, or just vanished. It was curious. Not really knowing why made him a little itchy. Sleepily, he tried to make a list of possible causes, and, without realizing, somewhere along his list, he slipped peacefully into oblivion, only joined by warm, solid arms and a faint smell of shampoo.


	5. 4

**Sorry for the long wait, you guys! **

**Thank you all so much for the reviews, they are the sole reason I haven't given up on finishing this story yet. I appreciate every single one of you readers. You're wonderful!**

* * *

That's it, he was leaving. He could not afford any more attachments.

Waking up in Steve's arms had been… well… he had fled the room. He had been avoiding Steve since. Actually, not only Steve. Tony a as well... As Clint. They should be starting to notice by now. Where would he go? He had saved up some money. That might be able to take him to another continent. Tony would look for him though. The man was too persistent for his own good. He was fucked this time. Maybe if he could contact Coulso-

A loud knock on the door ripped him from his thoughts.

Quickly he took a few calming breaths. No one should know.

"Yes, come in."

The door hesitantly opened to reveal Thor. He stood awkwardly in the too small doorway, only clad in a pair of sweatpants and a simple grey shirt. Even his hammer was lacking.

"I am very sorry to disturb you on this late hour, Doctor Banner," he said, his voice unnaturally quiet. Bruce was taken off guard by how alien it sounded without the usual volume.

"Am I interrupting you in any business?"

Bruce shook his head.

But Thor didn't make any move to come in, and neither did Bruce. Everything about Thor screamed off. He was rarely so quiet, when his brother seemed lost to him being the only time Bruce knew of, and his armor was practically glued to him. His head hung low, and instead of the usual wondering, laughing face, his expression was just solemn, and sad.

What on earth could Thor be wanting at this hour?

Bruce cleared his throat, realizing the awkwardness quickly that had filled up the silence.

"I'm sorry, please, come in…" He quickly got up from the bed.

Barefoot, Thor slowly padded in a few steps, halting in the middle of the room. Fidgeting uncomfortably, he stood there silently, looking at the ground. And still he didn't make any move.

"I'm sorry, Thor. Can I help you with anything?"

He looked up at the mention of his name. Bruce thought he saw his eyes glistering. Thor then opened his mouth to speak, but seemed to be unable to find words. He swallowed hard and resumed to looking at his fingers, taking deep breaths.

Bruce hesitantly took a step towards the demi-god. "Thor? Are you alright?"

His voice made Thor look up. "You… you remind me of him, doctor Banner."

Bruce blinked in confusion.

"I'm sorry?"

"You remind me of my brother."

His stomach twisted in a knot. Bruce swallowed. He reminded him of Loki? That couldn't be a good thing.

Thor took a breath as if to say anything, but let it go again. A single tear escaped his eyes.

Bruce had never seen Thor so human before, and quite frankly, it scared him a little.

"Well," he said after a few moments, "I guess I can see the comparisons."

Yeah, he did. After all, when you took away the circumstances and reasons, they were both quite alike. Exiles. Beasts, both in their own way.

"I know you don't see him the way I do, doctor," Thor spoke. "And neither did Loki…"

His voice broke a little on his brother's name. "And neither… neither do you."

Bruce didn't follow, unable to see where Thor was taking this. No-one looked at Loki the same way Thor did. Not even Jane. Why would he be any different? And didn't Thor just say the same thing twice? Exhaustion washed over him. He didn't want to have this conversation. Not now.

"Thor, what do you want from me?" he asked restrained.

"To believe in us, good doctor. To trust us."

"I do trust you."

"No, you don't." Thor took a step forward. "You don't trust us, doctor. Why can you not _see_. If only," he swallowed, "if only you would… Like Loki failed to."

Bruce pressed his lips tight in slight annoyance. He was tired, he just got compared to a mass murderer and he was absolutely done with today.

"And what exactly do I fail to see?"

Thor stared at him. And he stared back.

_Fine then_, he thought,_ if you're not gonna say anything…_

He sighed and made to turn around to walk back to his bed. He did not have the energy to deal with this right now.

And then Thor's face was mere inches from his as his head was grasped firmly into large hands. His heart stopped. He could see the wet tears that were still trying to spill from Thor's piercing eyes, his face contorted in sadness.

"What you fail to see, doctor, is that we believe in you. That _I_ believe in you."

Whacked out of his usual composure, Bruce could only stared back into the god's eyes stunned, but that didn't seem to hinder Thor.

"Bruce," he continued softly, "my brother refused to see how many people believed in him as well. How much I believed in him. All he saw was disappointment and anger in our faces, closing his eyes from all the wonder. He didn't see our trust. I beg you, doctor. Don't make his mistakes. We- _I_ trust you. Please… please let me."

Bruce's breaths came rough. His vision swam before him. His throat felt like it was restricting tightly. Thor trusted him? After he had beaten him up several times? He didn't understand.

A green form stirring happily, in the far back of his mind. It was the first time he had felt him. But Hulk had always liked Thor. He didn't get hurt when he smashed him. He liked that.

Then a dam broke and Bruce felt a wave of gratitude cursing through him. All he could do was nod. And before he knew, he was swept up into two enormous arms and warmth engulfed him like a glove. He felt liquid staining his shoulder.

"Thank you…" Thor's voice cracked.

Bruce closed his eyes. They felt prickly.

_Fuck you, Thor. Fuck you for making me like this._

* * *

__**I'm still debating on how to finish this story, so it may take another while, but I promise to do my very best!**

**If you have any ideas for Natasha or if you'd like to give me some tips, please don't hesitate to review! I love reading people's opinions.**

**Also, if you didn't like it, tell me why, so I have a chance to improve myself! :)**


	6. 5

**xx LuxCorde**

* * *

_Please don't go._

Such strange words, vibrated through the air. Reaching for him, calling on his soul.

_Please don't go._

A simple row of words. So silently spoken, he'd almost missed it.

A catch of a breath, but not his own.

The hallway of Stark Tower was too small for the heavy air. His feet wanted to run, but his mind was stuck. His voice thick in his throat. He did nothing.

His suitcase was clenched in his hand, ready to go. But he stood still.

"I have to," he whispered.

Closing his eyes tightly he tried not to cry. When did he become so broken a man?

_Please don't go._

A breath. No more than that. It sounded too loud for his ears.

He had to. He had to.

"It's not safe." He shook his head, forcing back a crack in his words.

It's not safe.

Light footsteps echoed behind him in the empty space.

Body heat closed the remaining distance.

He could hear her breathing so close behind him. Barely audible, but breathing nonetheless.

She was there. Natasha was there. And she asked him to stay.

_Natasha_ asked him to stay.

Natasha who was so scared of him. Natasha who had nearly died at the hands of the Hulk. Natasha who, out of all of them, had felt the wrath of his curse most. Natasha.

_Please don't go._

She came to halt him. She came for him. And in her book, she had _begged_ him.

She had come, and she had begged him to stay.

Natasha.

Tears prickled behind his eyes, a sob dying in his throat.

"I… I can't." His voice didn't sound like him. It felt painful. It hurt like a scrape after falling down. Raw and exposed.

His knees buckled. But he didn't fall.

Two soft arms wrapped themselves around his body and lowered him slowly the ground. And he cried. Without any barrier to hold him back, he dissolved into tears, and Natasha stayed with him.

Everything he had pent up for so long, every single longing, hope, fear came crumbling down around him. And he quietly shook until he made no more sound and only few tears traced his cheeks. And Natasha held him.

Not like mother. Not like a sister or friend. Just like Natasha. And that was okay. Because Natasha, Natasha, she knew he understood. And he knew. He knew. And it had been more then he could handle.

And when he found himself in a bed, a few hours later, he felt at peace. She was gone. But he knew. And he understood.

And as long as they wanted him here…

He'd be here.


End file.
